me, and when he spoke, his words were quiet but intense. “The black door in the courtroom—had you ever seen it before?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
Orlando frowned as though I had given the wrong answer. “Did you know it was a machine that could break through the barriers of time?”
I couldn’t stop the words from bursting out. “What! Are you crazy?”
His frown deepened. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“A time machine?” I asked, but the rest of my words died in my mouth. Was such a thing possible? No, of course not. And yet . . .
I’d been trying to force myself to remember something—anything—about my past, but so far, when I looked inward, all I saw was that strange blackness as tall and thick as a wall, blocking me from myself. And yet . . . I felt the darkness inside me shift a little at the thought. The flutter of a veil that offered a mere glimpse at the light behind it. As impossible as the idea was, it had the shine of truth to it.
Was I brave enough to believe the truth, no matter how impossible it seemed?
“I don’t know how it is that you can speak my language,” Orlando said, interrupting my thoughts, “but you do, as perfectly as if you had been born here. Yet, I can assure you, you are not from this place—or this time. ” He held my gaze with a meaningful look.
I didn’t want to ask the question, but I had to know. “You think I’m here because I traveled through time?”
He shrugged his acceptance of the truth. “You said you felt like we had met before. We have. I met you for the first time in a place that exists only on the other side of that black door. A place that is accessible only by those who have been through that black door. So how could you have been in that place unless you too had passed through that same black door?”
I leaned against the back of the pew, too stunned to speak. The veil of darkness drifted in my mind again, the gleam of truth shining a little brighter than before.
“Where was it?” I asked. “The place where we met?”
Orlando hesitated, as though debating on what my reaction might be. “You called it the bank and told me how it runs alongside the river of time.”
“ I told you that?”
He nodded. “That’s why I’m worried. When you arrived on the bank, you had all the answers. Now, though, clearly something has happened to you to change that. Do you remember anything that happened between when we were on the bank and when we were in the courtroom?”
I pressed my hand to my forehead. I remembered pain, and the harsh notes of a song that hurt, but somehow I didn’t think that was what Orlando was looking for. I shook my head, ruthlessly ignoring the beginnings of a headache.
“If that door in the courtroom is a time machine, then what year is it?” I asked.
Orlando tugged at his sleeves, revealing the pair of black chains marked around his wrists.
I swallowed. I wanted to reach out and touch the chains, but I didn’t dare. It would have been too invasive, too intimate. Instead I reached for the locket around my neck, following the smooth curve of the heart with my fingertips.
He rotated his wrists outward, and where the chains met on the inside of his wrists was a blank circle with two arrows pointing to the midnight mark. Beneath the curve on one wrist were the letters MD; beneath the other were the letters MDI.
He touched the marks with cautious fingers. First one wrist, then the other. “When I left. And when I arrived.” He swallowed. “You asked me what year it is. It’s 1501. The first month of 1501.”
Orlando looked down at his hands. “They marked me like this before I went through the door.”
“Why?” I asked.
“They wanted to keep track,” he said quietly, “and make me remember.”
“Why don’t I have them?” I asked. “If I went through the door like you say I did, then
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
Orlando frowned as though I had given the wrong answer. “Did you know it was a machine that could break through the barriers of time?”
I couldn’t stop the words from bursting out. “What! Are you crazy?”
His frown deepened. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“A time machine?” I asked, but the rest of my words died in my mouth. Was such a thing possible? No, of course not. And yet . . .
I’d been trying to force myself to remember something—anything—about my past, but so far, when I looked inward, all I saw was that strange blackness as tall and thick as a wall, blocking me from myself. And yet . . . I felt the darkness inside me shift a little at the thought. The flutter of a veil that offered a mere glimpse at the light behind it. As impossible as the idea was, it had the shine of truth to it.
Was I brave enough to believe the truth, no matter how impossible it seemed?
“I don’t know how it is that you can speak my language,” Orlando said, interrupting my thoughts, “but you do, as perfectly as if you had been born here. Yet, I can assure you, you are not from this place—or this time. ” He held my gaze with a meaningful look.
I didn’t want to ask the question, but I had to know. “You think I’m here because I traveled through time?”
He shrugged his acceptance of the truth. “You said you felt like we had met before. We have. I met you for the first time in a place that exists only on the other side of that black door. A place that is accessible only by those who have been through that black door. So how could you have been in that place unless you too had passed through that same black door?”
I leaned against the back of the pew, too stunned to speak. The veil of darkness drifted in my mind again, the gleam of truth shining a little brighter than before.
“Where was it?” I asked. “The place where we met?”
Orlando hesitated, as though debating on what my reaction might be. “You called it the bank and told me how it runs alongside the river of time.”
“ I told you that?”
He nodded. “That’s why I’m worried. When you arrived on the bank, you had all the answers. Now, though, clearly something has happened to you to change that. Do you remember anything that happened between when we were on the bank and when we were in the courtroom?”
I pressed my hand to my forehead. I remembered pain, and the harsh notes of a song that hurt, but somehow I didn’t think that was what Orlando was looking for. I shook my head, ruthlessly ignoring the beginnings of a headache.
“If that door in the courtroom is a time machine, then what year is it?” I asked.
Orlando tugged at his sleeves, revealing the pair of black chains marked around his wrists.
I swallowed. I wanted to reach out and touch the chains, but I didn’t dare. It would have been too invasive, too intimate. Instead I reached for the locket around my neck, following the smooth curve of the heart with my fingertips.
He rotated his wrists outward, and where the chains met on the inside of his wrists was a blank circle with two arrows pointing to the midnight mark. Beneath the curve on one wrist were the letters MD; beneath the other were the letters MDI.
He touched the marks with cautious fingers. First one wrist, then the other. “When I left. And when I arrived.” He swallowed. “You asked me what year it is. It’s 1501. The first month of 1501.”
Orlando looked down at his hands. “They marked me like this before I went through the door.”
“Why?” I asked.
“They wanted to keep track,” he said quietly, “and make me remember.”
“Why don’t I have them?” I asked. “If I went through the door like you say I did, then
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